A Dangerous Game
by Laufeia66
Summary: Truth and lies, Victory and defeat, a dangerous conspiracy threatening to surface. Morgana is a pawn in a game that she has not designed, a game fast spinning out of control as everything she knows is thrown out of balance. When her unhealthy infatuation threatens to consume her, Morgana is faced with a dangerous choice between everything that is right, and everything she desires.


**AN:** Greetings all! This is the first installment of a short series that i hope to continue posting in the near future, a bit of a side on the already running story i have: with ice consumed, still currently being re-written for much better storyline/reading experience. Drop me a review and let me know what you think, favourite and follow both me and my story if you want more, everyone is welcome here! Based on the popularity of this story, i will be continuing accordingly, and if it just doesnt seemed to be liked enough then i may abandon this project for another, so keep that in mind. Lots of love for you all!

ps. HAVE YOU GUYS SEEN THE NEW THOR MOVIE OH MY GOLLY GOSH.

ps. if you'd like to check out some fanvids i have been making of these two and of other fandoms, then check out my channel on youtube 'Amy Nielhcs' and subscribe if you like what you see, thanks again!

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**Chapter One**

**In State of Mind**

Loki.

Once that name had sent her blood to heat, her heart to racing. And now what? Now that she knew with what creature her affections lay, did it change anything? No. It never would.

As the morning sun dawned over the Asgardian horizon, Morgana stirred in her sleep. She had been dreaming such pleasant things: battle and victory, honour and respect, a long forgotten age where things seemed once so bright and happy. She had been alive so long, it felt, but to what avail? Nothing changed, nothing ever did, for the world was trapped in its own constant loop, thrown to the start at the slightest tip of the scales.

The sound of her maid, Gwen, opening the hidden-door cracked cruelly into her dream. Groaning, she twisted her head as Gwen walked softly over. Her maids honey brown skin filled her blurred vision, her smiling face drifting into focus.

'Good morn, my lady' Gwen's voice was soft and flowing, almost like a constant lullaby. Morgana forced a smile onto her stiff face as she sat up. It was just after dawn, she could tell from the height of the golden sun.

'Will you be wanting breakfast in your chambers, my lady?' Gwen continued, fetching a bed gown from the depths of Morgana's cavernous wardrobe.

'That would be perfect, thankyou Gwen' Morgana said, stepping into the embrace of the large robe. Gwen curtseyed as she made her way to the hidden door behind the tapestry of the rearing dragon. Morgana knew that beyond lay the network of passages and tunnels that fanned throughout the expanse of Asgard's citadel. The servant's passages around the castle, out of sight from the nobility, for both convenience and privacy. Not many knew of it, yet Morgana had made it her business to find out every last detail of this foreign land, not that the aid of a certain prince hadn't helped… Shaking her long, raven curls, Morgana stepped down the raised dais of her bed platform and into the main room of her chambers. Large, with towering ceilings, and beautifully decorated, the room would no doubt have mystified a simpler mind. Seating herself in the plush chair of the small dining table, Morgana began to fiddle with the small petals of the flowers.

She had never been particularly fond of flowers, they represented the false happiness and contentedness in the world, emotions that she felt did not, could not exist. But all the same, Gwen had insisted, saying that they would make the room appear more feminine, though the gods knew that Morgana could not possibly care less. She would have much preferred to surround herself by objects of some evident significance, not petty, feminine things like flowers. But she was a guest here in Odin's palace, a war prisoner really, captured not long after the battle of Camelot and Asgard, and it was her duty to appear, in every way, an object of the most loveliness. Her life was in the hands of a stern, unforgiving god, as it had been since she had been taken ten years ago. She was determined to appear as though taken and humbled by Asgardian culture, although, truth be told, she was utterly indifferent to it.

When Gwen returned, laden with a small yet appealing breakfast, Morgana was thoroughly famished. She downed the food ravenously, with no one to judge or watch her. At the end of her meal, she chose the gown that she would wear that day. She would have preferred a more practical outfit, either trousers and a tunic or a reasonably fitting dress, but as was feminine Asgardian culture, she was required to bury herself in silks. It was a practice she took no joy in.

Adjusting her posture as Gwen slid her into a flowing gown of deep, forest green with a matching golden chain and wrist cuffs, Morgana contemplated the activities of her day. Odin would hold his small council, an event which she was expected to attend as his ward, and after that… then what? The lady warrior, Sif, a great and treasured friend of hers, was off fighting some outburst from Niffleheim, along with Thor and the warriors three… all in preparation of Thor's coronation, a date fast approaching. There was no others that she spent time with for she could not stand the simple minded ladies of the court, nor would she be seen to frequently in the company of servants. She did not particularly enjoy matters of politics and it would be unfitting for her, a ward of the king, to spend all day down at the training yard… so then what? There was always… No. She told herself that she would not. Already she had become a simpering, pathetic fool in his presence, she would not subject herself to more embarrassment than was necessary.

He had stayed behind from the 'quest' (as Thor had put it) to spend more time on his study. As a future advisor to his brother, destined to be king, it was his job to be able to inform and council him, holding most of the power without any of the title. A cruel fate for a promising man, a boy told so often that he was born to be a king. But a king of what? There was no crown for him here.

When Morgana had first lain eyes on the second son of the mighty, fearsome Odin, she had been almost amused. How had this dark haired, pale skinned boy any relation to this family of fair-headed gods? Though none else had seen fit to question this, she kept her doubts to herself. Besides, as soon as his glowing green orbs had met hers from across the hall as she was escorted in, she knew that nothing would ever matter again. As long as she could look into those cold, green eyes for the rest of her eternity, she would be content. How pathetic she had been back then. She knew his true nature now of course, though she hadn't stopped loving him any less, for ten years the strength of her ridiculous emotion had never failed. Even as Fandral had attempted to seduce her, as Thor had tried to court her, as so many other men (and women) inside the citadel had made every attempt to bring her to bed or hand, she had prevailed. She had grown to be beautiful, she knew that as well as any, and so often she used that in her advantage. Yet her beauty were meant for none but him: the only man who had never looked twice, except to push her up against the wall as his merciless claws ripped at her clothing. It seemed cruelly ironic, that the only man she felt anything for, used her for nothing but an object of sexual release. Though Loki had never exactly showed any affection for anyone, excluding of course his mother Queen Frigga and brother Thor, it still hurt her.

Their little nightly dalliances had begun years ago… on the night of her nineteenth birthday… she remembered it all so clearly: his lips as they claimed hers, his hands as they explored every inch of her, drawing from her her first pleasure, the only pleasure that she had ever wanted. In his stride, he had taken her virtue, dignity and self-respect, clutched it tightly in sharp talons, and utterly disregarded it. She was powerless to stop what they had, not that she wanted to of course, but it still left her feeling completely ashamed. If anyone were to find out… her reputation, or whatever remained of it, would be ruined. It made no difference to him.

As Gwen curtseyed her final depart, Morgana made her way to the door of her chambers. The small council would adjourn in what she estimated to be an hour, Loki would be there, but that was the only part of the day that she was required to see him. After that, perhaps, she would hide herself in the library, buried in some book. Or perhaps she would hide in her chambers, composing poems and stories as she often liked to do, or perhaps sew that dress that she and Gwen had started. She would go down to the practice yards at noon, train for as long as she could, and then she would go to the baths and soak herself until her skin wrinkled and pruned. After that? Well, she supposed she would handle that as it came.

Pushing open the door, she walked swiftly out into the sun lit, open hall. Stiff backed and regally tall, she made her way through the maze of corridors to the throne room. Being such an important guest, her chambers were situated not far away from this room, but still it was no short journey. Upon arriving in the throne room, she found that she was utterly alone.

There were no guards here, they had other duties patrolling the castle, not this chamber hardly used. It felt so odd to be alone in a place such as this. There was a soft yet distinct chill that settled in the air, a chill that made the hair on her neck prickled strangely. It was then that the all too familiar feeling began to gnaw at her stomach. She was no longer alone.

'Looking particularly beautiful this morning, Lady Morgana' his voice was so disarming, so strong and smooth all at once. It was no wonder they named his silvertongue.

'Thank you, your grace' Morgana turned to face him, though was surprised to find that he was not there. So, they were going to play this game.

Out of no-where, rough hands seized her around the middle, drawing her into the darkened column of the hall and out of sight. She was shoved roughly against the cool stone wall, her hands trapped behind her as hungry lips closed around hers. Against every sensibility she possessed, Morgana found herself responding in kind, bruising both their lips in a ferocious assault. She gasped as her welcomed attacker pulled away, gasping for breath.

'Such thoroughly un-lady like behaviour, my lady' he hissed into her ear.

'As lady like as this?' she rasped back, throwing herself against him, catching him off-balanced. As he swayed on his feet, Morgana twisted around and slammed him into the wall, drawing from him a wheeze of breath as she knocked his lungs flat.

'Or this?' she teased, kissing his jaw and working her way down his throat. As she kissed the underside of his chin, he moaned, his hands grabbing her hair roughly and forcing her head up. As she gasped in both pain and pleasure, his lips reclaimed her, forcing her to hold on to him as he threatened to knock her senseless. It was this kind of love, this rough embrace, which Morgana craved. The constant physical battle that they fought for power, for control, a battle in which they were evenly matched and neither could lose.

'As I said, there is no vestige of lady-like behaviour in you, Morgana, I wonder when my father will see this, though perhaps not as clearly as I do' with one last quick kiss on her reddened lips, he broke their embrace and strode away. And as quickly as that, the moment was gone, and she had lost him once more. How long where they doomed to play this game?


End file.
